Awakening was Never so Sweet
by HowlingAngel
Summary: Sequel to He Doesn't Sleep Anymore. She split her mouth into a sneering grin, and licked the blood off her fingers as Naruto slipped and slid over the edge and died. "Lovely, simply divine."
1. Dreaming is like Falling

**Title:** Awakening was Never so Sweet  
**Universe:** Naruto  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Armageddon's come and gone, but she forgot there was a reason the Forth put so much faith in that seal  
**Dedication:** to all the readers who wouldn't stop asking, and my Dad who made fun of me 'til I started thinking  
**Disclaimer:** have not - do not - will not own

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It's like floating, he decides. It's like floating in a pool at night where there is no moon or stars or streetlamps to light the water. Completely quiet, with nothing to sway the atmosphere.

He doesn't really know what's going on anymore, hasn't since that day on the bridge with team 7. Since he lost his senses and ripped

Oba-chan's throat out. Since Konoha burned to the ground and he laughed with the dark voice in his head.

The rage has died since then, cooled steadily into a dull ache that doesn't feel like it belongs to him anymore. Maybe it's hers. He doesn't know. Lord knows all she is is rage and power and fire. She burns and she burns him up.

He can vaguely register that he's moving, that he's doing things like running and sitting and fighting. But what he's actually doing is lost on him. Alone in the dark in a black lake. He doesn't even try to find out, not now, after everything is lost. He knows he did something horrible that he didn't mean to, didn't want to, can't take back. He knows that if it weren't for her, he never would have done any of it, wouldn't continue to do any of it.

He can't do anything now, even if he had the strength to. She's too strong, been manipulating him for too long. That's the problem, isn't it. Manipulation.

Because as horrible as she is, he's the one doing all that he's doing. She's still locked away tight, snug in her little prison. All she can really do is whisper to him and scream to him and promise to him. And that really is the worst thing she can do. Because it's working.

He doesn't really register anything that his body is doing, only that it does so gladly and viciously and messily. Perhaps this is madness, he's insane. When the rationality of the mind and the primal instincts of the body crash and split. Maybe his body is just acting without him to steer it, and obeying her commands instead. Or something.

Deep down he hopes that's the case. Because if it's not his body acting on its own, and it's not her, then who else is doing everything but him.

It hurts to think. All the energy for his musings bleeds him dry. He has less each time. He's going to go to sleep now, if that's the right word for it. She giggles and whispers goodnight. He vaguely acknowledges that she's stopped talking him since the bridge, and disappears.

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See, I _can_ update! There will be more chapters, I promise you. I have been colaborating with PIIRPierrot to figure out what is going to happen next, and if I do say so myself, it's quite good. Stay tuned and kindly review.


	2. Malevolent

**A/N:** My apologies for taking so long. College is a bitch and recently so am I.  
**Dedication: **All my readers and reviewers that seem to think that there is something worth reading. I better get a hella lot of reviews for this, even if it's just to kick my ass for taking so long. ^-^  
**Disclaimer:** No own, no will own, no have own. Take a number.

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_(they are sitting, sitting nicely, so flushed, so rich, so alive, so full of blood to be spilled, rip their throats out, come on, do it, do it, doitdoitdoit-)_

She preens. The vessel is moving and it obeys her so nicely. Ever since Achievement, she has been in Control. The Boy is gone, buried beneath a mountain of psyche and baggage of his and her doing. He is fading and soon she will have real control.

_(wait, wait wait wait for it, they are unaware, having a picnic, so defenseless, little family out in the prairie, silly silly, don't they know about the killer in these woods, they will-)_

Ever since the final Break, the moment when she Shattered him, she has had more control than she has had in years. Before, when she was a voice in the backseat, all she could do was Hurt. Hurt with truths and words and constant-constant chatter. The best way to Break is to never let up.

_(come on, come on, make it good, make a noise here, move, make a noise there, scare them, scare them, smell that fear, so good, little one is standing, eyes are wide, aw don't walk that way-)_

Soon the Boy will be all gone, bye-bye in the place where she is and she will be in the place where he is, or was. He's broken and fading fast and when he does she'll be right there to take his spot. She can't get out until he's dead, but the Seal works just for that. Once the Boy dies, so does she. But if the body lives, so does she. All she has to do is get rid of the Driver, and the Passenger can take over. How lovely, how precious, how _divine_.

_(running running running, screaming, oh my god, what is that, who is that, why are you doing this ,rip rip tear thrash sever divide, bleeding bleeding bleeding, glorious-)_

He wakes up every now and then, he still owns himself. She is still a voice but murder shreds the soul in pieces, tears and rends asunder the unity of innocence. He regrets and guilts and it's all she needs to throw him out and away. Once it kills him, she will live, finally, to be as she was when she was There and Splendid and Magnificent.

_(blood all over the ground, body parts and gore and he's making a mask from their skin, sewing is hard without thread and needles, messes up, do over, use a bone and sinew, stitch stitch stich, pretty, it's pretty, movement to the side, look up, there it is, what is it-)_

That bastard Hokage thought he could get rid of her, throw her away, seal her away like a runt in the litter. Revenge is sweet, so sweet. She hopes he was watching as the Boy cheerfully killed the village he martyred to save. How his little boy is the catalyst for the worst thing to hit this plane since the Great Wars of Demons. All her brethren are gone, goodbye, sealed away in another dimension or in jars and jugs and people. Now she's here and soon in control and it'll be like the good old days where she could bet lives like playing cards and laugh as she either won or lost with the others.

_(there it is, little baby, sweet baby, run away sweet little baby, no, alright, run from me, don't mind, filled up to the top right now, run and go spread the legend, dare you dare you, go on, want new prey, strong prey, bring the best, tear them down, go go gogogo-)_

It won't be long now, and she can Be and Live. The vessel runs for her. Does what she wants and tells it, so sweet for so little resistance. The humans were savage too, once upon a time, and instincts are easy to remember. She's been working him since the moment she could. A cloudy day filled with mirrors and ice and a black haired boy falling with a thousand needles dissecting him. The Boy loved him dear and now he's all gone, the third to go after Achievement, after the teacher and the bitch. She might have lost Him if the pale one had lost his pride and tried to care. He didn't and she won.

_(tired tired, killing is tiring, rest now, nothing to worry about, to harm back, sleep sleep, fall down and curl up and snore to wake the heavens, water water, cold cold, raining, was it going to rain, is now, no wet, too cold, move to shelter, the rain bleeds a red river from the picnic site-)_

It amazes her, the stupidity of humans. They knew, the Bastard told them, that the boy was a vessel, not a possessor, possessed. They should have revered him for his 'sacrifice', for using his very life to chain her in, restrain a monster. Instead they torture him, tortured him. If he had been possessed, if she had been in control, real control like they though and not in control like now, she would have waited patiently, picked off the weaker ones and made it impossible for them to blame her. Then when the vessel was large enough, old enough, she would have killed them all with laughter and good cheer and wore their insides as ball gowns. On second thought, she would have had to wait until now, thirteen red leaf seasons and a bit more old and holding enough human power to harness demon power safely. It would have been the same, but she would have been free to wait, instead of chained to plot.

_(shelter, found it, lie down and watch the rain, peaceful lovely now that it's over there, not over here, soothing, restful, calm, calm, calm, sleep now, rest thy weary head dear child of mine, sleep now, dream of pleasant things)_

She's out now. For all intensive purposes, she is out and about now, free to wander, free to kill, free to be true to herself for herself by herself. The Boy will be dead and all will be well. The Boy wakes a little, in the well he has fallen into in the back of his/her mind. She laughs gently and wishes him good night.

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Ha! I updated! Beat that! Review please.


	3. Final Stand of the Fallen King

**A/N: **My apologies for taking so long. Again. -_-;; Applications and deadlines and art portfolios suck. And so does economics. I DON'T GET IT!!  
**Dedication:** All my readers and reviewers that seem to think that there is something worth reading. I better get a hella lot of reviews for this, even if it's just to kick my ass for taking so long. Again. ^-^  
**Disclaimer:** No own, no will own, no have own. Not unless a temporal paradox leads me to the day that the Great One himself was penning this story and I trick him into betting the rights in a poker game. Do not mess with me in the art of poker. I will cheat and I will win the shirt of your back, as well as the bra, belt, wallet, pants, undies and shoes. The socks you can keep.

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It's so easy to cause chaos in this world. She's fine with that, knows it intimately. She thrives on chaos and the power it gives her over those who are thrown into it. Terror and torment is her lifeblood, the fuel that feeds the monster they all know her as.

_(The link between them is intricate and complex; a web of strings of fate tying two souls together. She is cozily nestled on one side of the entrapment, and he on the other, two stone dolls hanging is such a way that they would fall if the threads supporting them would falter. She is fine with that, knows that intimately. It doesn't matter. All she has to do is tie some new strings and cut some old ones.)_

And now the monster has done something more monstrous. She's manipulated and connived her way through more then a decade of defenses and clawed through the guardians placed to stop her from what she wants desperately. It doesn't matter. She's fine with that. Because now, they're all dead and rotting in a derelict ninja village as she preys on the countryside, and the country, and the surrounding countries.

_(The process is difficult. Rock limbs that don't exist with cumbersome fingers make for slow work and bad knots. She ends up making a more intricate web then the one that tied her to him in the first place. It doesn't matter. She's fine with that. Stone fingers also double for capable scissors.)_

She wishes she had recorded the moment it happened and could play it on repeat, the moment when she slipped her borrowed body into a crowd and all who looked knew that they were going to die. Because by that point, they all knew her/his/_their_ face. His tattered jumpsuit is threadbare now, and bloody; his sandals were lost months ago, giving way for ground hardened feet to run and chase. His hair is too long and lank, dirty from rolling in the dirt and much more pleasant things.

_(She saws relentlessly. Strings give way under chronic abuse. Delicate threads falter and tear, separating from each other and one by one, making Him dip lower. A spirit puppet who falls to the floor will break. She wishes she could record the moment it happens and play it on repeat. It would be grand proof that she is eternal and powerful and no matter the trial, she will always come out on top.)_

She isn't the King of Demons, the Nine Tails of Judgment for nothing. Hard work and careful planning are virtues to be admired and cultivated dearly. A web this intricate had to be woven with care, down to the very last string. The boy is mind-crushed to oblivion, a foregone sacrifice to the cause. She doesn't even need jutsus, like those pathetic mortals. Demonic energy is sacred, powerful, and all consuming.

_(She is down to the final few threads on his side of the web. He dips so low she can see beyond him now. The penultimate string. The last string. Snipe, saw, cut.)_

She smiles dreamily as she pushes and pulls the very last of the ties connecting her dear, _dear _jailer, sliding everything he is and everything he was toward the abyss. She finally, finally has control, and she lifts her new head, and parts her new lips and grins a sharp toothed smirk of victory, dark eyes narrowed staring at nothing that could be seen on the human plain. In the physical world, a young blond boy is lounging in the Fire King's palace throne room, legs thrown over the side of the large chair, and idly licking his fingers of the blood of the various guards dead on the floor.

The king's torso is leaning against the far wall and his head is by a window. His wife and child are hiding behind a pillar wetting themselves, but the boy isn't hungry right now. She'd known the boy when he and his sensei had delivered an important scroll. The face is the same, but the expression haunts her. The wife fears she will have time only to wonder why before he kills her.

_(She is eternal and he is falling. Falling to his death, with nothing to hold him up.)_

The boy throws back his head and laughs, something cold and dark and vicious, and the two remaining cower.

_(And a thousand strings tying her to him directly snag her and pull her free too. He is falling. She is following.)_

And he freezes body rigid on the throne, mouth open in shock and eyes wide. A faint trembling travels up legs and arms to his chest and he convulses. The two stare as he pales drastically, before narrowing his eyes in fury.

He whispers a curse under his breath.

He stands.

He falls.

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Take that! Ha! I won't promise to update soon, because I did that the last three times and look what happened. I'm thinking a little revese psycology may trick my addled mind into fixing my lag.  
Wish me luck.  
Or just review. I think I would prefer the reviews. Yeah.


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